


reasons to sulk and snog

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday oneshot, F/M, Gift Fic, Theo is at a party and he’s not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Theodore Nott is the most unlucky sod to have ever existed—an arguably subjective fact when histories are compared beside that of Draco or Potter, nevertheless! Theo’s in a mood tonight and he’s resolved in his glum state for a number of reasons.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 24
Kudos: 108





	reasons to sulk and snog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/gifts).



> Happiest of birthdays, darling MrsRen! You’re a friend and darling and dear and I’m so thankful to know you 💜💜💜 Frumpologist alpha read and gave me the prompt of Hermione and Theo both being at a party they didn’t want to be at... and lovely BlueeyedSue helped with beta reading, and thank you ladies! 
> 
> Happy birthday, dear friend!!! I hope it’s a beautiful day!!!

* * *

Theodore Nott is the most unlucky sod to have ever existed—an arguably subjective fact when histories are compared beside that of Draco or Potter, nevertheless! Theo’s in a  _ mood _ tonight and he’s resolved in his glum state for a number of reasons. 

Reason number one: he’s at a  _ party _ . Which isn’t to say he’s opposed to the general notion of parties, especially not ones he throws. Few things are quite as satisfying as a proper surprise party for a mate or chum. Or Hermione. He’s taken to throwing her surprise party as early as an entire month prior to her birthday to maintain the element of surprise. Her milk-chocolate, golden flecked irises  _ always  _ go wide before settling and the happy crinkles frame those lovely eyes. Eyes that he frequently gets lost in…

So, no. It’s not that he detests parties. He simply despises parties of gaudy gold and crimson and crimson and gold decor and stomach churning Hogwarts themed food and drink. Honestly, who could possibly still function off of foods like bangers and mash, beans, ham and potatoes and… _ rolls _ . And pumpkin juice to top it all off. Pumpkin juice and butte beer and…Firewhiskey… And that’s all. It was all family style and he was cramped between one Weasley twin and Longbottom, one of whom is a leftie, and therefore poked Theo in the ribs the entire meal… 

But really, Theo lost his appetite after dishing up one type of potato… He never reached for the second… or the beans… and why weren’t there at least some tomatoes to go along with this digestion clogging nightmare? 

His sulking has  _ nothing _ to do with the fact Hermione was seated to the  _ other _ side of the wizard of honour himself—the groom-to-be. 

So that takes him to Reason Number  _ Three  _ for his sour state, because Reason Number Two is obviously the food. The food that’s left him simultaneously bloated and still hungry because his pallet has matured and refined since leaving the years of adolescence behind (he guesses that’s not the case with Charlie Weasley and his new  fiancé Lavender Brown… Possibly even Molly and Arthur Weasley for that matter). Reason Number Three is Hermione seated next to dragon tamer Weasley. 

_ She’s not anymore _ , he tells himself. She’s currently drumming her fingers against a mug of butterbeer on the other side of the tent, expression vacant and void of joyful emotion. The fact that she’s not staring longingly at the elder Weasley is… Well, it’s a relief. He’ll admit that, but it does little to pacify his wilting, pouting self. Hermione and Charlie have a  _ history _ , and while that was years ago now, and the dragon tamer has clearly moved on, Theo’s never quite believed Hermione when she says it’s over. And in the past. That they ended up not having enough in common. 

Those always sounded like half-arsed coverups for someone trying to convince themselves to him—especially when considering Hermione hardly dated. First and second dates, sure, but nothing ever lasted much beyond that for years now. 

_ Years _ . 

Coupling this observation with the smile that’s so clearly forced she’s plastered across her face all evening, what else is Theo left to conclude? 

Reason Number Four for the bloody knotted and miserable state of his existence tonight is the fact he’s not worked up the courage to go up and  _ have a conversation _ with the witch.  _ His  _ witch, he thinks to himself, but then winces, because she’s not  _ his _ . He’s made no declaration or statement, and even then, she’s not property or—

“Bloody hell,” he huffs, draining the remainder of the Firewhiskey in his tumbler in a hasty gulp. Flames clawed up and down his throat, but that’s okay. He wants to feel as he faces the witch who both stars in and haunts his every dream and fantasy. He wants to be as pained as she appears to be. 

Solidarity in love and all that. 

(And, yes. Salazar help him, but he’s been in love with his best friend for longer than he’d care to admit, thank you very much. It’s a fact as banal as the need to breathe to live: it’s too commonplace and part of his existence he hardly pauses to consider it anymore. It simply  _ is _ .) 

She looks up at him as he approaches, lips quirking in the hint of a smile. It’s a sad one, though, and he’s filled with the need to distract her somehow. To make her anything  _ but _ sad that the dragon weasel has moved on to the point he’s getting married…

“You look as elated as I feel in the midst of such festivities, love,” he starts, making a great show of furrowing his dark brows, narrowing his eyes as he sweeps his gaze about the tent. “Was it the tacky decoration or the heavy food that set the tone of your evening?”  _ Or the event itself?  _ He doesn’t have that, though. Doesn’t have the courage for it just yet—if ever… 

“You’re a snob, Theo,” she answers with a small shake to her head, but the half smile she flashes him is genuine, so he knows it’s not an accusation.

“I never said I wasn’t.” He shrugs and slides his hands in his pockets, balling his fingers into tight fists. Merlin, she smells heavenly. Like a vase of flowers in a library and everything he wants to bury himself in and never leave. It makes his heart jump into his throat, even as he wants to be brave… To have it all out there once and for all so he can be rejected and then continue to love her quietly till the end of his days… He forces a deep breath into his lungs and licks his lips. “But you… You’re the one who hasn’t said much tonight. Thinking about how it could have been you?”

“What?” Her attention is completely on him now. She’s looking at him and he’s looking back at her, right into her eyes. She blinks once. Twice. “It could have been…? Godric, Theo, you’re impossibly thick sometimes.” 

“ _ I’m  _ thick?!” This is unexpected. “You’re the one who’s been denying yourself when it comes to the dragon tamer all this time and now he’s gone and gotten engaged and you’re the one who’s miserable at his—” 

But she swears under her breath and he doesn’t finish his sentence. Which is probably for the best. Hermione rarely swears, and her voice is low and dark. Downright feral as her face falls into her hands and her loose, silken curls spill around her shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how to react for a moment, but maybe it would help to wind her up a bit more so she can get this all out of her system. 

His lips part. “You’ve had ample opportunity, love, what with all your back and forth to and from Romania with your job, and—” 

“Theo,” she hisses through her hands. “Stop. Please stop.” She lifts her face back up, and he sobers immediately seeing the watery sheen in her eyes. 

“I’m—I’m sorry, Hermione. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—”

“You did so.” She cuts him off, but, again, he finds no hint of accusation in her tone. In fact, what’s even more astonishing and baffling is that she winds her fingers around his wrists next and squeezes softly. Gently. He’s held her hand more times than he can count over the years, tangled his fingers with hers even, but this— _ this _ . 

It makes his heart seize in his chest. 

It makes him forget to breathe. 

It makes him wonder  _ why _ he’s not dared to confess his love before. 

It makes him want to make such declarations here and now. 

She’s pulling at him gently, and it takes a splinter of a second to realise she’s easing them down into chairs placed along the edge of the tent. Their fellow attendees may be watching them, or they may be dancing and mingling for all he knows. 

Hermione is his entire world at this precise moment. Hermione and that look in her eyes. That look that says a million things he can’t read. 

Her throat bobs before she’s flashing that fake smile at him again and starts talking. “You were trying to rile me up because you’ve mistaken my feelings for one thing, and you’re trying to get some grand confession from me so you can gloat that you’ve been correct all along, and then be a martyr for your feelings, and frankly, I don’t have the heart for all that tonight.” 

It’s Theo’s turn to swear. Swear and wriggle his wrists from her grasp, only to lay his palms over hers. “Am I really that dramatic?” 

“You are,” she nods. “But I love you, so I never mind it.” 

“You—?”  _ Wait…  _ “When you say—”

“I love you, Theodore Nott.” She says that like it’s nothing new or noteworthy. Like she’s confessed that she loves to read. “And when I say that, I mean it as an I’m in love with you type of way. I don’t think it’s been as long as you’ve been in love with me, but here we are and since you haven’t ever said anything, I’ve kept quiet, too.” 

“But then…why the confession tonight? Here and now of all times and places?” This isn’t real. None of this is real. He’s dreaming. Or locked in an out of body fantasy. 

She sighs, twining her fingers around his neck, drawing him closer to her. Like they’re sharing secrets, or trading intimacies. Like they’ve been lovers all along…

“Because you keep insisting I have feelings for Charlie when I’ve tried to tell you over and over I don’t. It was never anything much more than a crush and a few kisses  _ years  _ ago. I’m even the one who introduced Charlie to Lavender for Merlin’s sake.”

“Then…then why the silence and brooding?” This isn’t real… Or maybe it is. His skin burns under her touch and going so far as to cup her cheek in his hand now, leaning his head so that he’s almost touching her brow with his…  _ Almost.  _ He isn’t sure he can handle any more scorch of skin on skin. Not yet at least. “Why the fake happiness to hide your misery tonight, Hermione?” 

“Because it’s the last day of June.” 

He has to blink several times for the significance to catch up. She’s never been so intoxicating, so alluring—

It hits his like a bolt of lightning. “I’m such an idiot.” He caves now, taking her completely in his arms, and all but dragging her to his lap. He feels her chest heaving against his, and he breathes deep of everything  _ her  _ as she shifts and squirms, making herself comfortable in his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m git of the foulest sort for forgetting.” 

“Not even.” Her words are kind as she’s hugging him back, pulling him closer, or pressing herself closer. He’s not sure which and isn’t certain it matters at this point. “You’re a silly, wonderful dear with a flair for jealous dramatics. And it’s not like I’ve shared this date with anyone else to remember or care about, either.” 

“Maybe you should.” He smooths a hand over her curls, not fully trusting this to be real. Not yet at least. But he’s going to make the most of whatever this is while he’s got it. “Maybe it’s time the rest of your friends know the date you bravely saved your parents lives.” 

“You mean took their free will from them and altered their lives and memories forever?” 

“Semantics.” He drops a kiss to her hair now, taking full advantage of whatever this moment is, mood anything but sour now. “You shouldn’t have to be alone with that burden.” 

“I’m not alone, Theo.” Her lips brush against his in the chastest of touches. So tender and brief and barely there he isn’t sure it happened to begin with. But her eyes are shining. They’re shimmering and dancing with an expression he’s never seen before. Or maybe he’s seen it a million times before, and never known what it meant before now.“ I haven’t been alone since the day you marched yourself into my life.” 

He has things to say in response to that, but can’t speak them because Hermione’s taken his lips with hers again, in a kiss that’s decidedly  _ less _ chaste than the one before. His lips have parted in disbelief, and she takes full advantage of that, slipping her tongue into his mouth. 

He can’t think of much else beyond letting her kiss him and learning how she likes to be kissed in turn. All he can really fathom at this point is that he’s no longer in a bad mood, and can’t remember why he was to begin with.

Because this is the greatest night of his life. 


End file.
